| What bark impell'd by autumn's fresh'ning gale |
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| Add but a handle to the moon |
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| Coming this mountain way, no herb |
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| Oh! clouds about the moon, from whence |
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| Come, breeze, and lightly blow upon |
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| A Temple on a hill, whose bell |
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| So frail our life, perchance to-morrow's sun |
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| Elegy on the Death of the Korean Nun Rigwan |
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| Nothing in the cicada's voice |
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| A Change of garments, And the spring |
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